Wherever The Road May Lead
by Kailene
Summary: It had been a shot in the dark, and Jack honestly hadn't expected anything to come of it. Now, as he clutches the manila envelope in his hand, he realizes they have even more questions than before and an even bigger mystery to solve. *** takes place between S1E21 and Cigar Cutter and S2E1DIY or Die ana


**Author's Note #1:** I started this story right after the Season One finale. I managed to get the entire story written except for one scene, simply getting Jack into Mac's house, right after the first episode of Season Two premiered, then Real Life stepped in and it was put way on the back burner. Then more and more little tidbits were revealed about Mac's dad, and the further we got into this season the more I felt like I should just forget all about this story. But my best friend and beta convinced me that this was a whole lot of words to just up and delete. So... I decided to keep the story as is, instead of trying to change it to fit current Canon, and finish that one little scene and post it.

And here it is. Hope you enjoy.

A Thank You goes out to Gale ( BigSister40) for all her encouragement and for being a new set of eyes, and Forever to RiatheMai, for everything.

 **Author's Note #2:**

*Discrepancy on Mac's age when dad left; 1.02 Jack and Thornton state that Mac was 12 when his dad left, in 1.18 (Bozer) and 2.11 (Detective Greer) state that Mac is 10 when his dad left. I am using age 10.

**reference to Mac finding Jack in Iran, after Benghazi, and in Machu Picchu are taken from the deleted scenes of the Revised Network Draft of the Pilot Script; as referenced in the .com article (looking back at Season 1 XVII)

***AAR – After Action Review

**** "That includes any and all long shots, slim chances, and dead ends" – dialogue taken from S2E4 "X-ray and Penny

* * *

Jack walks slowly up the driveway, his soft footfalls silent as he makes his way across the gravel surface. His prized GTO sits like a steel sentry in front of the small house, black paint gleaming in the pale moonlight, and Jack glides the tips of two fingers up her side as he walks past.

He wanted to take her. Open her up on the winding backcountry roads. Let the freedom and solitude of just him and the miles of blacktop help clear his mind, try to work things out like it has for him so many other times in his life. But the deep growl of the powerful engine would have given his departure away, and he needed to play this one out on his own.

He realizes what kind of a hypocrite that this makes him. All of his lectures to Mac about him not _'lone-wolfing'_ this, telling him time and time again about how they're a team, and that Jack not only has his back, but is in this search for the long haul no matter where it goes.

And then Jack goes and does exactly that.

But this is different, less _searching_ , per se and more _intel gathering_ , which is his department. At least that's what he's telling himself, how he's reasoning it in his own mind. But he knows his partner is not going to see the distinction between the two.

The cicadas' shrill song echoes in the field beyond, their steady rhythm filling the quiet night air. Jack leans up against the front panel of his car, letting out a deep, frustrated sigh as he tips his head back and stares at the stars in the cloudless night sky.

When he finally decided to reach, Jack honestly wasn't expected anything. At best, maybe knowing who the intel was actually for might garner him a location, with an up-to-date, usable address as a bonus. At worst, a stern lecture that despite everything—maybe in spite of everything—that they were still friends and as such talked for fun and not just intelligence gathering.

When he got a message back, he was skeptically hopeful.

Opening it up to find it coded in a cipher that only the two of knew had him instantly on alert.

Being told that they had to meet in person and not use their usual means of exchange had seized his heart and dropped a rock the size of Texas in his gut.

Jack scoffs, scowling at the envelope clutched in his hand, and thinks about the contents he went through just a few short hours ago.

Who is he kidding? This has nothing to with splitting hairs between what is considered _search_ and what is considered _intel gathering_ , and everything to do with him trying to protect the kid who's closer to him than a brother from the additional—and eventual, Jack is sure—pain he knows is coming. And if he can't protect him—like Jack knows deep, deep down inside he _can't_ —well then, he'll run interference, intercepting anything he can first so he can Inspect it, analyze it, even take it apart—whatever he has to do to soften the blows where he can.

And, yes, he is very much aware that he's being the helicopter parent that Mac so often accuses him—rightfully so—of being with Riley.

But people do not just vanish for no good reason. And people certainly do not vanish and leave a trail of dead ends, false leads, and a dozen defunct addresses that span sixteen years and the entire globe for reasons that are good either.

In Jack's vast experience they are never, ever, reasons that don't end in some kind of pain or heartache, and the papers he currently has… well, they open a whole new can of worms that Jack hadn't been expecting, still isn't sure how to process, and that changes the name of the game completely.

But those are all thoughts for another day, or, later this same day, Jack supposes with a tired groan. It's well after midnight. The first streaks of dawn will be painting the sky in just a few short hours and his partner will be hitting the winding backcountry roads himself for his early morning run.

Jack pushes himself off his car, adjusting the small paper bag he's also carrying underneath his arm. He heads for the path at the front of the house to slip quietly back inside before that happens. Back to the guest room that's become permanently his whenever he wants it, to buy himself some time, maybe make a few phone calls, call in a few favors and try to get some answers so he can put all the pieces together before having to face his partner and hand him yet another mystery.

Jack fits his key silently into the lock on Mac's door and he opens it just enough so he can slip through. He turns the inside knob as far to the left as it will go as he closes the door behind himself, releasing the knob slowly to prevent the latch from making any noise as it fits itself back into the plate.

His boot falls are silent on the floor as he walks. He knows this house like the back of his own hand, where to step to avoid the old, creaky floorboards, where to dodge furniture and parts and pieces of experiments as he makes his way through the pitch black towards the back of the house.

"How's Sarah?"

The voice comes suddenly out of the darkness and Jack spins towards it, fingers curling around the gun tucked at the small of his back a split second before it registers who it belongs to.

"Damn it, Mac! Are you tryin' to get yourself _shot_?" Jack barks out, and he drops his head for a moment, taking a deep breath to try to calm his racing heart.

Mac scoffs at him and Jack can read between the lines, hears the " _like that would ever happen_ " loud and clear.

It never fails to both elate and terrify him in equal parts the blind faith that kid has in him.

"Did your hunch pay off?" he asks Jack instead.

Jack looks through the large open window in the kitchen out onto the deck. Mac is leaning up against the back railing, arms crossed against his chest, and that is just about all that Jack can make out.

The deck is bathed in darkness; the string lights that are strung about are switched off, the fire pit unlit. The only light is from the Los Angeles skyline that stretches out for miles on either side behind him, the glow of lights highlighting his partner's lean frame.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" The question isn't all a feint, Jack is actually curious. After their emotional globetrotting search for James in Barcelona, Kiev, and Patagonia that yielded basically nothing, and then the detour to Cuba to track down an escaped Murdoc...which not only yielded nothing as well, but ended with Mac taking the brunt of their Evel Knievel off of the sea wall, Jack expected his partner to pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow and sleep until dawn. Once again, Angus MacGyver is an exception to the rules.

"Shouldn't you?" Mac fires back. "You're deflecting, Jack. And more than that, answering all of my questions with a question of your own only points to guilt and the fact that you're hiding something. So..."

Mac pushes himself off the railing and Jack watches as he walks towards the fire pit and bends down. Jack hears the strike of a match and a moment later he's blinking back spots as the fire roars to life.

Jack sighs, resigning himself to the fact that they are doing this now, and makes his way up the small set of stairs that will bring him up onto the deck.

"Mac, listen, man… I just—"

"Had a theory about my dad you wanted to follow up on?" Mac finishes for him.

Jack just looks at him, and the look on his face must match the surprise he's feeling because Mac just looks back at him and laughs.

"Dude… you've been acting hinkey ever since Europe."

"I have not," Jack defends.

"Yeah, you have, man. I'd tell you what gave you away, but that would take all the fun out of it," Mac tells him with smirk. "We've been partners for years, Jack. You think I don't know all your little idiosyncrasies as well as you know all mine? That I can't see when you're trying to hide something? If it had been Matty that needed something she would have contacted the both of us, or if she just needed you and you went to meet with her, or Riley needed you, you would have let me know and not waited until you thought I was asleep and snuck out. Which leaves one explanation..."

Mac's voice is casual, a smile still on his lips, but Jack can hear the hint of hurt underlying it all, and Jack can't have that, especially not when he is the cause of it.

And said like that, like Mac just did, it suddenly doesn't feel at all like Jack is trying to protect him.

"Mac…"

"Jack, stop. I get it, I really do," Mac says sincerely. "The fact that you haven't denied that it was Sarah you went to see, that you have been communicating with for weeks now, I'm sure, combined with that large manilla envelope you have tucked under your arm tells me that's where you went tonight. And the only reason you'd willingly go see her, by yourself, is for me... to get information about my father. I know how much that must have cost you to see her. I appreciate why you did that, Jack, I really do. But I need answers right now, not protection. Alright?"

"Alright." Jack crosses the deck, opening up the brown paper bag as he goes, and places the contents on one of the small tables. Mac glances at them and then looks at Jack with a raised eyebrow.

"Six pack with a whiskey chaser," Mac comments slowly. "Been a long time since we've had a conversation that required those. They for before or after you give me whatever is in that envelope you have clutched in your hand so tight?"

Jack huffs out a laugh, though there's no humor in it. "I'm wondering if before will make it all make a lick more sense." He sits down on the edge of one of the benches beside Mac. Even though Mac has already told him to forget about it, that he understood, Jack feels the need to explain anyway. He doesn't want anything coming between them. Secrets are dangerous, especially in their line of work; they've learned that the hard way. And keeping them on the basis of protecting someone you care about makes no difference, they always come back to bite you in the end.

"Listen, Mac… You're right; I have been talking to Sarah-"

"How is she, by the way," Mac asks gently."

"As beautiful and as badass as usual," Jack says with a smile, and it's bittersweet. His heart still aches with what could have been, the hurt still lingering even after all these months. But that is a problem for another time, and Jack shakes the memories away.

"While we were on our little trip around the world, jaunting from one address to the other, it just got me thinking. And you can leave your little commentary about that aside, please."

Mac chuckles. "That's what gave you away, by the way," he admits.

"What did?"

"You thinking," Mac explains. "You say I have a certain face I make when I'm working a problem out, well, you do too. Your ' _thinking about whether Han Solo or John McClane would win in a fight'_ face is much different+"

"Oh... That's a good one," Jack breaks in excitedly. "What kinda fight are we talkin about? Are we talkin' bare knuckle brawl or driving? Oh, or I know-"

"Focus, Jack," Mac chides lightly. "As I was saying, that is much different from your thinking about strategies and trying to analyze motives and the next moves of our bad guy du jour. The latter is the expression you were wearing for most of the second leg of our world tour. So I knew you were trying to work something out. Considering the only thing we were working on was searching for my dad, logic dictated that that was what it was. And so when you left tonight..."

"You put the pieces together," Jack stated. "Well, I always said you were good, kid. But, Mac, I was never going to keep any of this from you. I promise. When I originally reached out to Sarah, I didn't ever think it was going to pan out, so I didn't want to get your hopes up. I was hoping she could maybe get you a lead of some kind. We really had bupkis, you know, so I figured why not? Maybe she could get you a better address, or something more current we could work with that would track your dad down. Then she contacted me, in code mind you, and said we had to meet, personally. So… I went."

"And she gave you what?" Mac asks as he looks at the envelope that he's still holding in his hands, and Jack can't quite nail down all the emotions that he can hear in his partner's quiet voice.

"I'm honestly not quite sure," Jack tells Mac as he hands him the envelope. "It's not what I expected, and I'm not quite sure what to make of it, or even where it leaves us."

Mac stares at it a moment before taking it from Jack's hand. He flips it over and opens the clasp that seals it shut. Reaching in, he pulls out the papers that are enclosed.

"It's a dossier," Mac whispers as he slowly opens the file. "And it's all redacted."

Jack watches as Mac turns the report over in his hands. Well, it's less of a report and more a sheet of paper that looks like a preschooler has got a hold of it with a black magic marker and has gone to town; the only words visible a name in neat, bold, Times New Roman type at the top.

 **JAMES MACGYVER**

That's where his partner's eyes are. It's that same faraway, lost-little-boy look in them he gets every time he looks at this dad's watch and it breaks Jack's heart a little bit more every damn time he sees it.

The pieces may be finally falling into place—and that's a huge freakin' maybe in Jack's book—but if he's right, then he can't fault the man for what he's done, for leaving. Given the same set of possible choices… Well, that's not even a question in Jack's book. Mac's safety comes first.

Every. Damn. Time.

No matter the circumstances.

That doesn't mean, however, that the first opportunity he gets, Jack isn't going to want to kick the elder MacGyver's ass for hurting the kid sitting in front of him.

Jack watches as Mac drags two of his fingers back and forth across the top of the paper, slowly, almost reverently tracing his dad's name; the first tangible evidence that the man exists outside of the wants and needs and distant memories of a young child.

Jack has been by Mac's side long enough to recognize when his partner is using that ginormous brain of his to work an issue out. Whether it be trying to create something out of nothing to save their asses—again—from the latest bad guys trying to kill them, or being let loose in the Phoenix's labs and having the freedom and the skies-the-limit resources to create whatever he can dream up, it's always a damn impressive thing to watch and be a part of. There are times when Jack expects to see one of those little thought bubbles or light bulbs appear over MacGyver's head, like they always do in all those Saturday morning cartoons, when he has his eureka moment.

One of the first things Jack learned though was that Angus MacGyver marches to the tune of a different and very unique drummer. You don't push him, or ask needless question. Sure, Jack may bitch and complain, rile Mac up by telling him to ' _hurry on up_ ,' but Mac complains and bitches right back at him, because that's who they are, what they do. How they both deal with the chaos of the out of control situations when the two of them very much want—need—to be in control.

But Jack knows; you just have faith, and let him do his thing.

And now is no different. Maybe now more so than ever does Mac need the time to process, to come to terms and accept every new tidbit of information in a mystery that has plagued him since he was ten years old.

So Jack sits quietly, props his elbows on his knees and lets his arms hang down between his legs, and waits and watches. As he watches, a different faraway look washes over his friend's face, this one purposeful, contemplative, blue eyes calculating. Jack can practically see the gears in Mac's head working as he considers and analyzes every possible angle, accepts and rejects theories and notions that Jack hasn't even thought of yet.

Mac places the documents back on the table between them and runs his fingers through his hair. It's the only tell his young partner has that gives him away when the emotions he so carefully keeps in check become too much for him to control and compartmentalize.

"CIA," Mac says as he gets up from the bench and starts pacing. It isn't a question, but it's not a statement either. It's that somewhere in between tone that Mac gets whenever the problem is so big that he needs to talk it out, verbalize all the ideas swirling around in his head so that he can see them all better.

And this is certainly the biggest problem that MacGyver has ever faced.

"And what?" he continues throwing his arms out to the side. "An Op went sideways and he went dark for sixteen years? Or – Or he went rogue and fell off the grid all this time? No. No, that's…," he runs his fingers through his hair again in obvious frustration and Jack follows his movements with his eyes as Mac continues his circuit around the deck.

"That doesn't make any sense. If that were the case…If he'd been an Agent, then you would have heard of him when you were CIA. Hell, you probably would've been tasked with trying to find him and take him down at some point."

"Yeah, you're right," Jack answers easily. Given what they know, what Mac has shared with him over the years and the little evidence that they have managed to collect so far, neither of those options have ever been in Jack's wheelhouse of possible answers.

Mac stops and looks at him then, head tilted to the side as he pins him with a knowing look. "But then you never even considered that angle did you, Jack?"

Jack shakes his head. "No, I didn't. Doesn't make any sense. You're right, if James had been CIA at any time, I would have heard of him. And one going rogue…? Well, that's big. Something like that just doesn't just get swept under the proverbial rug."

"So…" Mac folds his arms across his chest. "What's your theory? Because I know that look, partner, those your spidey senses of yours are talking to you."

"I do, a couple actually. Just not sure which one I care for the least," Jack admits, happier than he can ever say at the 'we' that Mac uses. "And don't you go mockin' the magic, brother. Those spidey senses have saved our asses a few times"

"More than, Jack," Mac says with a hint of smile. He circles around and sits back down on the bench, and sets his attention on Jack. "So…"

"Alight, well, let's start at the top with what we know and what we can throw away based on the clues that we have," Jack states, trying to help his friend get back on track, to focus, attack this like they would any other case.

"Ok," Mac readily agrees, and Jack sees the change in his countenance as he lets his logical brain take over. "My dad left when I was ten. I haven't seen, or heard from him since, other than his watch. Which I'm convinced he left for me. Other than that, we've got a slew of burned address that led us nowhere and tell us nothing."

"Ah, now see the addresses are our biggest clue, my young padawan. But we'll get back to those. You know, you once told me that you had once wished you'd find out that your dad left you to start another family."

"Yeah," Mac says softly, and drops his head, but Jack doesn't miss the hurt look that passes over Mac's face at the thought of that ever being true, and the self-doubt, that self-blame he still carries that flickers in his eyes and Jack needs to nip that in the bud right now.

"Well, we can cross that one right off the list. Most important because I think your daddy loves you very much, and also because if he had left to start a family—"

"He would have settled in one, maybe two places over the years," Mac looks at him and finishes, and Jack can hear some of that excitement come back into his tone. "He would have left behind all sorts of records and trails that I could've followed to find him."

"That's right. And we already nixed both agent ideas. Which brings us to your dad just up and deciding to disappear one day, and we can forget about that one too."

"What? Jack! That doesn't even make sense for you!" Mac snaps suddenly, emotions once again getting the better of him and he pushes to his feet. "That's what this entire search is for because he did disappear!"

"I'm going to ignore the attitude, bud, because you're emotionally compromised, but—"

"I am not emotionally—"

"Yes. You are. And if this was an actual mission we were on I would bench you so fast your big brain would spin for not havin' your head even anywhere near the game, and you know it," Jack cuts in but then softens his voice. "But its not. Cut yourself some slack, man, you're allowed to be emotional about all of this. I can't even imagine havin' to carrying all this all these years…and you don't have to, you hearin' me? You're not alone in this, brother. That's what I'm here for alright? That's what partners do, pick you up and carry you when you can't do it yourself."

"You're getting sappy in your old age, old man." Mac sits back down, he looks a bit worn, and a bit tired, but there's a hint of his old humor in the slight so Jack counts it as a win.

"So, explain to me how my dad didn't disappear, old wise one."

"Glad to see you're finally acknowledging my wisdom," Jack cracks, ignoring the first part of Mac's statement entirely and the need for the question or the answer in the first place. He doesn't mention to Mac that this is a prime example of what he was just saying because if he were thinking clearly he would have all of this figured out already. Instead, he sends a silent prayer to the Big Man upstairs that in the end this all works out on the positive side for his partner.

"What's the definition of 'disappear,' Mac?"

"There's a few of them."

"Well, pick the one that you think best suits this situation," Jack instructs him.

"Well, according to the OED, that's the Oxford English Dictionary," Mac says with a quick look at him and Jack doesn't even resists the urge to roll his eyes, because of course the kid knows exactly which dictionary the definition comes from. "Disappear means _'to cease to be visible'_ or _'be lost, to go to a place that is not known; become impossible to find."_

Mac pauses and Jack knows the exact moment that he figures it all out.

"Yeah, you're right," Mac states with a tiny shake of his head. "That word really doesn't fit. If he had wanted to disappear, he wouldn't've left all those past addresses. He would've found some out-of-the-way, little no-name place and just blended in. Become invisible. So what does that leave us with? It just brings us back to the theory that it all ties in to the CIA…somehow."

Mac scrubs his hands down his face. "Like we need more pieces to a puzzle that already doesn't fit together."

"Now where would the fun be if it were easy, kiddo? That would seriously mess with our stats of wingin' it and flyin' by the seat of our pants all the time," Jack jokes. "But, seriously, I'm going to lay my theory on you, and I just ask that you let me try to explain it, alright? Cuz, I'm still workin' some of the bugs out."

Mac makes a sweeping gesture of the entire area with his arm. "The floor is yours."

"Smartass," Jack chides gently. He pauses a moment and tries to figure out the best place to start before he decides that maybe the best way is to forgo his usual—long-winded, as Riley so often accuses him of—story and to just come out with it.

"Your dad… Or well, my theory is at least, is that your dad is on the run. I think—"

"Really, Jack?" Blue eyes blazing, Mac pushes to his feet, hands fisted at his sides as he glares at him. "I may not have a lot of memories of my dad, Jack, but I don't believe for one minute that he's a criminal. How can you—"

"What I ask you to do, huh? Sit back down." He catches Mac by the wrist as he tries to walk away and pulls him back down so that he's sitting back on the bench. "And don't you go putting words in my mouth that I had no intention of even sayin.'"

"Dammit." Mac scrubs his hands down his face then drops his head, resting his forehead on his closed fists. "I'm sorry, Jack,"

"Apology accepted, but not needed, bud." Jack reaches over and grasps the back of Mac's neck and gives it a light squeeze, the muscles tight and tense beneath his grip.

"But Mac, you gotta get a handle on this. If you and I can't even have a conversation about this without you losin' your cool…" Jack leans forward intently and catches Mac's gaze.

"Everyone has a trigger, and this one is yours; and it's big, and it's personal, and it's still raw even after all these years. Like I told you, you are one hundred percent entitled to all those feelings that are swirling around inside you like a summer storm on the prairie, and I know… _I know_ —better than anyone—how much you like order and logic, predictability, and all your formulas. How you have to figure every aspect of every single thing out, how it all has a nice, neat file in that brianiac mind of yours… And how much all this is throwing you off your game because it doesn't, because it _won't_ until we find your daddy and we get you those answers you need. And that may be next week or hell, even next year. You know that. But all this anger..."

Jack lets go of the back of Mac's neck and pokes two fingers against his chest, right over his heart, his voice low and serious as he continues. "All this hurt that you're carrying, you let it consume you, control you, man… Or worse, let other's use it to control you, like fake Zito or Jason Tennant or whatever the hell his name is, and that psycho sonovabitch Murdoc…"

Jack's last words are terse, clipped, and Mac's attention snaps to his. Jack simply looks at him. His fear of the _what-ifs_ and _what could've beens_ is still too close, his nightmares still too fresh, still too vivid despite the weeks that have passed for him to censor himself and Jack's jaw works as he attempts to rein himself in a bit.

"You really think I don't read all those damn AARs you all fill out? That I can't read between the lines and know just how damn lucky you are that Zito didn't have a backup weapon on him? Or that I don't know what happened in that interrogation room between you and Murdoc? That I wasn't right there…watchin' the entire exchange right next door in the Monitor Room, and that it didn't take everything, _everything_ , I had—and some pretty serious threats from Matty—to keep me from breaking that steel door right down when you went after him? When you wrapped your damn hands right around his throat?"

Jack suddenly realizes just how close he's gotten to Mac, just how much into his personal space he is. Putting Mac on the defensive, making him feel like he's been backed into a corner is the furthest thing that Jack wants to do. He and Mac butting heads isn't going to accomplish a thing. If anything, it will all only serve to bring about the complete opposite of what Jack is trying achieve. It will only push his partner away, make him go rogue and rabbit, and Jack knows that if Mac doesn't want to be found, that Jack will not be able to find him, to _protect him_. So he forces himself to take a breath, to sit back, and he runs his hand roughly down his face.

"That Rambo act is me, not you; my brawn to your brain, remember? You go messin' with our mojo like that pretty soon up will be down, left will be right, and we'll be livin' with Bizarro Superman. Besides which, those were rookie mistakes, and you know it," Jack drawls. "They were baiting you, tryin' to knock you off your game and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker… I taught you better than that, kiddo. Hell, bud, you are better than that, man. You hearin' me? One misstep, one fraction of a second hesitation or distraction in this business…"

He let's the rest of the sentence hang, too superstitious to give voice to his worst nightmares and risk Fate hearing and bringing about her ultimate wrath, his ultimate nightmare. But he doesn't need to finish it, knows that Mac knows, the words and the implications of what went unsaid.

"Bizarro Superman, Jack?"

"Really? That's the part of my brilliant speech you're gonna focus on?"

Mac bumps his shoulder against his and looks over at him with a slight smirk, and Jack takes it, returns the kid's smile because he will take any sign, no matter how small, that he and Mac are on the same page.

Mac nods his head, rubs at his face again, and drags his fingers back through his hair before sitting back up. "Yeah, Jack. I do, I hear you."

"You know you're the smartest man I know, Mac," Jack says quietly, "and I'm thinkin' the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree."

"If I was so damn smart, I would have all of this figured out by now and have the answers I need instead of dragging us on a wild goose chase around the globe, twice," Mac huffs out with a self-depreciating shake of his head.

"I'd say findin' your daddy's watch made all those air miles worth it," Jack tells him with a nod toward Mac's wrist. "Besides, all that globe-trotting did yield us some important answers in tellin' us where your old man isn't. But that isn't what I was referring to exactly."

Jack turns sideways on the bench and folds one knee up in front him so that he's facing Mac as he continues.

"Like I was sayin', you're the smartest man I know, but sometimes, all those brains and endless curiosity actually blind you… And I'm not sayin' that as a criticism, or as a reprimand, or as anything that I want you to change, _ever_ , because what you do…how you do it is what makes you so damn incredible at your job," Jack is quick to add. "But my job is to watch your six, so I've seen you in your lab, at your house, when we've been in the field—anywhere really—when you've come across something that needs figuring out or solving, or especially when someone we come across is in trouble, and you put all your energy, all your focus into it, and sometimes that results in you shutting everyone and everything around you out. But on top of that, you are one of the good ones, Mac. You see the good in people, you want to help everyone. You—"

"Jack… I'm not the only one, you—"

"Me? Nah uh, I'm a distrustful, suspicious, punch first ask forgiveness later on type of guy on my best days. That's another reason we work so well together, balance each other out; Yin to the other's Yang and all that metaphysical mumbo jumbo. But I digress," Jack admits, "back to my original point; I'm thinking that you got all those brains and all that virtue from your daddy, and that's what happened to him."

Mac shakes his head. "I'm not following you."

"What I'm tryin' to say is you have a single, widowed dad, doing his best to make ends meet, to raise his son right, give him the best that he can. Then one day he has some friendly folks approach him, maybe it's a job offer, maybe it's just a one-off project they say they ran into a snag with, either way they say they need some help. Start spouting all sorts of scientific data, and statistics, and what not, how good for everyone and the world their project will be if only they could figure out where exactly they went all wrong. And they keep at it, reeling your dad in because somehow they know just how smart the man is, how just plain good the guy is, and how he's the only one able to figure things out and do what they need done.

"So he takes the job, fascinated and intrigued by their ideas and what they say they're trying to do, but also because he honestly wants to help them out, and he gets immersed in the work. Stays late, and goes in early until finally he's there twenty-four seven, all his attention and energy laser-focused on the problem in front of him, how he's going to overcome it, and in what he's building and nothing else.

"And it isn't until he's done, or maybe almost done, that it suddenly hits him just what it is these nice folks are having him make… And it isn't some great device that's going to save the world or help people, but it's somehow going to cause destruction and hurt a lot of innocent people. But by then it's too late and he realizes that he's in too deep. He realizes also that this friendly bunch of guys isn't so friendly after all, and that there will be no backing out or simply walking away."

"So he runs," Mac reasons.

"Yeah."

Mac nods his head and is quiet for a moment, no doubt mulling that scenario over before he looks back at Jack.

"And what's the other one?" Mac asks. "You said you had a couple of theories. The fact that you mentioned the one we just talked about first and not the other means it's the one you don't care for, the one that you're hoping you're wrong about. One that would make sense with the CIA having a file on him. Which also means it's probably the correct one, the one we should be considering."

"Yeah, you're right, as usual. There is another one." Jack huffs out a quiet laugh. Leave it to his partner to figure that out without Jack saying a word.

"Don't get me wrong, now. I mean, I can picture your daddy getting mixed up and in over his head thinking he was helping some folks out, but, talking it through just now?" Jack shakes his head. "It just doesn't settle with me. There's a whole bunch of ways he could have sought help over the years, lots of people he could've contacted to help get him to safety."

"But he never did."

"No, he didn't," Jack agrees. "But yeah, you're right. There is another way for James to be tangled up with the CIA. Heck, I'm not proud to say that I've done it myself a few times when I was working on the Farm."

"What do you mean? How?"

"By becoming an informant," Jack explains, quickly continuing to stop Mac from the question he knows is coming. "Sometimes the person doesn't even know what's really going on—"

"They're essentially a Mark," Mac breaks in with, voice sharp with an undercurrent of anger. Jack winces despite himself at the word that Mac chooses to use. He hates that word. Hates what it implies, hates even more the truth of it and his part in the danger he's caused so many innocent people over the years.

"Jack… That wasn't directed at you, man." Mac lets out a sigh and shakes his head. "I know better than most how all this works. It's just… "

"Different when it's done to someone you care about," Jack finishes for him, and he watches as Mac swallows thickly against the emotional tide he must be feeling. "You and your daddy may have a lot of issues to work out when we finally locate him, and I have no doubt that you and I will accomplish that, but deep down, despite everything, you still love him and the possibility that the reason he abandoned you when you were a little kid is because someone essentially used him has every right to make you angry.

"I had a whole slew of CI's that I used for information, everywhere I ended up on a case, for every cover I had. Hell, I suppose if you think about it, I still do in case we ever need 'em for one of our own cases. They knew the deal though, keep an eye out if I asked and answer all my questions in exchange for staying out of the joint. But sometimes the information they provide isn't enough to crack the case or get you inside where you need to be."

"So you use... _get_ , someone else."

Jack appreciates Mac's change of words to try to spare his feelings and gives him a smile. "Neighbor, office workers, bartender, waitress, whoever is closest to your target or who you think knows something they don't realize, or who can get you into somewhere you need to be, do something that you need done. Most of the time you get lucky and the razzle dazzle works and you get what you need without them even finding out and that's that."

"And other times it doesn't work out that way."

"No… Sometimes it doesn't work out that way," Jack says lowly. It had only happened to him a couple of times in his entire span with the CIA, and luckily both had happy endings. "Sometimes the bad guys are just that much better than you, that much quicker…one too many steps ahead and an innocent civilian gets pulled into something he had no place bein' in the first place."

"So again... He runs." Mac looks over at him for a moment and then drops his eyes. "To protect me, so they can't use me as leverage in whatever it is."

Jack knows exactly where his partner's thoughts are going, and he's not going to stand for it, won't let him put any of this back on his own shoulders. He extends the leg that he has folded up in front of him and kicks Mac gently in the side of his thigh to get his attention, waiting until Mac looks up before he continues.

"Hey, don't even think of going there," he admonishes with a soft drawl. "None of this is even close to bein' on you."

"Jack…," Mac lets out a long sigh before continuing. "If it wasn't because of me, he wouldn't have had to leave."

Jack swings his leg off the bench, scoots himself sideways so that he's closer to Mac, side by side, shoulders just touching, lending his partner any support, any comfort that he wants to take from the action. He uses the movement to compose himself also, his heart just about in pieces at the utter misery and heartache that radiates from his partner.

"Mac… I will tell you this a million times if I have too, but what happened is not on you, brother. You understand me? Family? What we will do for the people we care most about? There is no limit we won't go to, to ensure their safety. And as much as I want to have a serious conversation with James when we finally find him and let him know exactly what I think of him doin' all this to you, faced with the same circumstances? If someone from my past comes knockin' around and there is even the slimmest chance that they'll use you in some way, hurt you to get to me? Well, I'll do the same damn thing, take off, go to ground so—"

"And I'll find you," Mac cuts in fiercely. "I found you in Iran, after Benghazi, and—"

"Even in Machu Picchu."

"Yeah, I found you even in Machu Piccu… When you _tried_ to loose yourself."

"You did." Jack lets a small smile curl at the corner of his mouth, because it might've taken them a bit to get here, for Jack to lead his partner back to what Mac already knows, but they got here none the less.

"And if you can find me, with all the training that I've had, then we'll find your daddy. We're gonna treat this just like any other Op that we've been on. Any other Asset we've been tasked to find. You and me," Jack knocks his shoulder against Mac's, "going all the way back to the desert we've had some pretty intense and crazy missions, had some pretty scary-assed close calls that still give me nightmares today, but we have a pretty damn good track record where finding and protecting people are concerned, and this one will be no different."

"Thank, Jack." Mac gives him a smile, bright and genuine and hopeful. "For everything. I don't know what I'd do without you, man."

"Well, without me you'd certainly be a whole hell of a lot more less cool. And then there's your choice in movies, and do not get me started on that stuff you listen to that you have the audacity to call music, or—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah old man," Mac laughs, "I get it, you're all badass attitude and I'm the nerdy geek with no flair."

"See, you're gettin' it now," Jack says with a smile.

"But why redact all his info though?" Mac muses. "Unless…"

"Unless…" Jack repeats, slowly dragging the word out. He doesn't say anything else, doesn't prompt Mac for more because he knows that tone of voice, knows that look on his partner's face and if they were out in the field it would be quickly followed up with an _'I know what we're going to do'."_

"Unless… Maybe whatever it is that my dad got mixed up in is big. I mean, it would have to be for the CIA to be involved. But maybe he has someone at the CIA trying to look out for him, you know? Perhaps they're protecting him, so they black out everything they have on him to anyone but a select few? But still, why?

"You know that's a lot of _unlesses_ , _maybes_ , and _whys_ in that explanation you just gave, right?" Jack blows out a breath. "For that entire document to be redacted like that and Sarah only being able to find that one vague reference of him in their database? That's got to be something seriously big your daddy got himself mixed up in, something the Company thought nasty enough to deem classified. Sure there are a few levels that fall under the umbrella ' _classified'_ , but it all still gets filed under the one big heading of 'big and bad.'"

"I know that, Jack," Mac says, blowing out a breath of his own. "Do you have any contacts still there that you can squeeze for info? Or maybe Matty? She was higher up on the food chain than you were; you think she knows anything, or could find out more?"

"Well, seeing as how Sarah and I were partners, my contacts are pretty much her contacts. It's been a while, but I'll give it some thought, do some clandestine checking, and see what I can shake loose. As for Matty? I don't know, man."

"What do you mean, you don't know? You don't think she would help me?"

"Matty may know nothing, or she may know everything. Or… she may be able to get her hands on just the intel that we need that will break this case wide open, because let's face it, if anyone can get their hands on something that someone doesn't want anyone else to know about it's that's woman. But Matty and I go way back, I've known her for a very long time. That woman is one of the best, tough as nails, no-nonsense, and isn't afraid of anybody. But she is also fiercely protective. If she believes that this is a danger to you, or that she is protecting you in any way…? Well, she could be lying straight to your face and you wouldn't even know it is all I'm sayin;"

"Well, thanks, Jack," Mac says, sarcasm thick in his voice. "That's a lot of help."

"Hey, I'm just callin' it like it is, slick."

The smile falls slowly away from Mac's face and Jack recognizes that look, has only seen it a couple of times in all the years and in all hell that they've been through. The one that says that his _'we can figure this out,_ ' ever optimistic partner is thinking worst case scenarios already.

"You know, there's another definition of disappear, one that, ah, may fit also."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, to 'abduct or arrest and kill or detain a person for political reasons,'" Mac says hesitantly, quietly, and Jack can hear the thick emotion that coats Mac's words, the tremor that warbles his voice, "'without making their fate known.'"

"Well, I'm thinkin' that maybe on this one you're wrong, pal. I may be way off base, and I hope with everything in me that I'm not, but I just feel that your daddy is still alive. That he's still hiding out, but that he remembers just how curious that little boy he left behind is, and just how much he always needed answers to every question and to every puzzle, and that this will be no different. I think he's left clues behind that he knows his son is smart enough to find and to put together, and that more will show up. And you know this goes without saying, but I'm gonna say it anyway… I am in this search for your daddy one hundred percent. That includes any and all long shots, slim chances, and dead ends. We're gonna find him, Mac, and you are going to get your answers. You and me, el hermano… Capiche?"

"You're mixing your languages again, you know," Mac tells him with a small grin.

Jack grins back at him even as his stomach clenches tight at the look of such hope that Jack sees shining in his partner's blue eyes and he sends another silent prayer out, praying that he is right about all this.

Jack wants to rage and scream, lash out at the unfairness of all of this, at this happening to a kid as good as Angus MacGyver. The need to do as much damage as possible to the people responsible for all that his best friend—brother—has had to endure in his short life burns bright and hot as it sings through his veins, but Jack grabs a hold of it, bottles it up to save for later.

Because there will be a later.

Once all the players are on the board Jack plans on giving them the justice they all deserve. But that's for another time. Right now his focus— _his responsibility_ —is to the kid sitting slumped beside him, keeping him safe, alive…

Doing anything he needs to do in order to get Mac the answers, _the closure_ , that he deserves.


End file.
